


You Don't Get an Alibi

by coricomile



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M, Road Trips, Trope Bingo Round 6
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-14
Updated: 2016-04-14
Packaged: 2018-06-02 06:38:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6555646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coricomile/pseuds/coricomile
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sid's good at a lot of things, but he's never been able to say no to Geno. It's a weakness he can't train out of himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Don't Get an Alibi

**Author's Note:**

> For the road trip square on my trope bingo card. I have no idea how this got this long. It was supposed to be maybe five thousand words and somehow we ended up with this. I know, I know, this verse from _You Are Jeff_ is super overused, but I don't care. It's fucking beautiful and deserves to be used over and over again. Set after the 2015 playoffs.

  
_You’re in a car with a beautiful boy, and you’re trying not to tell him that you love him, and you’re trying to choke down the feeling, and you’re trembling, but he reaches over and he touches you, like a prayer for which no words exist, and you feel your heart taking root in your body, like you’ve discovered something you don’t even have a name for_  
-You Are Jeff, Richard Siken

  
  
The rental car is nice, if a little cramped. Sid's got the seat pushed back all the way and still has to bend his knees a bit to fit. He can't imagine how uncomfortable Geno is, but it's Geno's rental and Geno's idea, so he takes comfort in not really caring. He pokes at the radio until he finds a reasonably decent station and settles back into his seat. All the ones he knows in Pittsburgh are long gone.

"Where are we going?" Sid asks. Geno's got a list of places in his phone and has been uncharacteristically close lipped about them. Sid figures there's stuff on there that Geno knows he'll try to veto, but he can't figure out what. 

"Surprise," Geno says. He merges onto an off ramp and Sid grasps the handle above his door, very carefully not checking the speedometer. "Is better that way."

"I don't like surprises," Sid says. He'd cried at his fifth birthday when his parents had thrown him a surprise party. It had been too loud and there were kids there that made fun of him and it had been awful. Not that he's telling Geno that. Or anyone else. 

"I'm know," Geno says, but still doesn't offer up any information. 

Sid feels unsettled already. It's May and he should be in Nova Scotia, licking his wounds from the bombed out series against the Rangers. His summers aren't as regimented as the season, but he still has a general routine, still has his own tried and tested way of coming down off the season and preparing himself for the year to come. It's unnatural to be here, with Geno, instead of texting him from their separate continents. 

But- but Geno had shown up at his house, all wide grin and terrible clothes, and asked Sid to come with him. For a moment, Sid had thought he'd meant Russia. That was Geno's own routine, his own cool down method. But Geno had shook his head, waved at the cherry red Camry, and said roadtrip. 

Sid's good at a lot of things, but he's never been able to say no to Geno. It's a weakness he can't train out of himself. 

They've been driving for three hours, the hum of the engine steady and comforting. They're going towards Columbus. Sid recognizes the endless stretch of road from previous trips, the angle of the window different but the landmarks the same. Geno hums along to the radio and speeds up.

"First stop," Geno says, barely an hour later. Sid startles from his doze against the window. He wipes at his mouth, cringing when it comes back damp with spit, and shakes himself awake. 

"Already?" He asks. They're parked in front of a picnic table in the middle of a park, the pale shimmer of a lake behind it. A single building stands squat and wide a few feet away, bright white and unassuming. It's pretty, he guesses, but not something he couldn't see in Pennsylvania. "Where are we?"

"So impatient," Geno scolds. He checks the time on his phone and shoos Sid out of the car. "Move or be late."

"Late for what?" Sid asks, even as he tips out of the car on slightly wobbly legs. He's always preferred flying to driving. It's faster and doesn't leave him feeling as rushed. The plane lands when the plane lands. There's too many variables with traffic in a car. But Geno looks pleased with whatever they're doing, so Sid just sighs and double checks that the door is locked before following him up to the building. 

Geno holds the door open for him, grinning when Sid elbows him. The lobby is bright and full of rocks in cabinets, thousands of them spread out through the small space. Geno leaves him by a display of small boulders that have been cracked open to show purple gem formations inside. They're surprisingly smooth against Sid's fingertips when he reaches out to touch. 

"Five minutes before tour," Geno says when he's done doing whatever at the front counter. He gestures at the display of geodes, leaning in to inspect one that sort of looks like a really craggy donut hole. "Pick one. First souvenir of trip, very important."

"What am I going to do with a rock?" Sid asks. Some of the unabashed joy fades from Geno's face. He shrugs, turning away to poke at a chest of tiny colored pebbles. Sid winces and goes back to looking at the geodes. 

They're nice, if kind of kitschy. It's cool to think of the Earth just… growing these things for no reason at all. He dips his fingers into the open space between tiny gold brown crystals and thinks that maybe it wouldn't be so awful on the mantle in the den. It's not like he has a lot of decorative stuff anyway. He hefts the geode up, surprised by the heaviness of it, and taps Geno's back. 

"This one," Sid says. Geno smiles at him, warm and pleased, and steals the fist size rock away. He's got a large green velvet bag in his other hand and it clicks when he heads back to the counter. Sid's chest aches a bit watching him talk to the teenager that rings him up. She doesn't seem to know what to do with Geno's exuberance, nodding along and smiling when Geno takes the plastic bag with their stupid rocks. 

They join a small group of people near a roped off door when a voice over the speakers announces the tour time. Geno is easily head and shoulders above everyone else and loiters respectfully in the back. A middle aged man looks at them with slightly narrowed eyes and Sid takes an interest in the plaque near the door. They're not in Columbus, but it's still pretty close. 

A woman leads them down a steep set of stairs. There's a weird changeover from drywall to rock, closing in until Sid has to turn a little to get his shoulders through. When they hit the bottom, the air has gone from early summer warm to kind of cold and impossibly still. He glances back to ask Geno about what exactly they're touring but has to stop to laugh at the awkward hunch Geno's been forced into. 

"Maybe small finally good," Geno grumbles, shoving him forward along the path. The tour guide's voice echoes off the rock walls as she gives a detailed history of the caverns. Someone up ahead has broken out a camera and its flash goes off every few seconds, lighting the red walls up eerily. 

Sid listens as the guide explains stalactite formations. There's nothing really exciting except for maybe the narrow rock bridge they have to cross to get to the next room, but Geno's still snapping photos with his phone, pulling a face when Sid rolls his eyes.

The next room is, well, cavernous. It's massive, the torches lighting up the main path not nearly enough to chase the shadows from the edges of the room. Crystal tubes hang from the ceiling and reach up from the ground, some of them so small they look like candy floss and some the size of Sid's forearm. They're a dull white, opaque and foggy, and feel a bit like chipped ice when Sid rubs a spot on one the size of his calf. 

"Pretty in here," Geno says softly. The guide points out a formation that looks creepily like an old fashioned water spigot and encourages photos. Geno takes five. Sid wonders what he does with all of them after putting them on the internet. "Look." 

Geno points up to the ceiling, crowding in and tilting Sid's head back with a hand. Sid jerks back into him when he sees the tiny fluff of bat hanging upside down from the rock. Geno laughs. It echoes back, an endless stretch of the familiar sound. The bat stretches its wings and opens its creepy little mouth. "Afraid of bat? No worry, I'm keep you safe." 

"Shut up." Sid elbows him and rushes to catch up with the rest of the group. 

Geno bullies Sid into posing next to the crystal king, fussing until Sid's embarrassed at the sidelong looks the rest of the group sends their way. It's roughly the height of a toddler and carrot shaped, all the way down to the bumpy rings along its sides. The guide tells them it's over two hundred thousand years old. Sid feels both awestruck at how ancient it is and also a little afraid that all four hundred pounds are going to come crashing down onto his head. Geno stands next to him, arm around his shoulders, and beams into the phone camera. 

Sid shivers when he pulls away. His t-shirt and cargo shorts were fine upstairs, but the longer they've stayed underground, the more the cold air has started to get to him. Geno wraps him up again, bumping their sides together companionably, and stays like that for the rest of the tour, warm and bright. 

Sid tries not to read into it. He stopped doing that a long time ago.

\---

They eat dinner at a truck stop in Indiana. Sid throws up protests, but Geno just threatens to leave him in the car and eat by himself. Sid doesn't think he'd really do it, but he shuts up anyway. The truck stop smells like grease and gas and artificial flowers. Geno winds them through the shelves and into the back where there's a dining area set up. A waitress hands them menus and glasses of water. Her hand lingers on Sid's wrist, which is infinitely uncomfortable. 

When he looks up, Geno's staring at the space where they're touching. Sid politely pulls his arm away to read the menu. It all looks god-awful, fatty and definitely all American. He eventually settles on an omelet and wheat toast. 

"Boring," Geno scolds. "Point of road trip is fun. Can eat bad for one week." 

"Greasy food makes me sick," Sid says. People give him shit for trying to eat healthy. It would be easier to put on and hold weight if he ate more red meat, if he ate more fats, but his body doesn't like it, and Sid makes his living listening to his body. If it means he has to eat nearly twice as much as his teammates during the season, whatever. He's gotten used to it. Geno sighs but doesn't press the issue. 

Geno takes a photo of his food when it arrives, kicking Sid under the table when Sid bumps the plate to screw up the shot. The omelette sits heavy in Sid's stomach, too salty for his tastes, but Geno still offers up the last of his gigantic stuffed french toast and the sugar chases the bad taste away. 

Sid takes over driving for the last two hours. The Camry sits way lower than his Tahoe, doesn't take up nearly as much space, and it takes him a minute to get used to navigating the console. Of course Geno got the newest car he could. Geno is shameless about undoing the top button of his shorts and rubbing his distended stomach, groaning pitifully. Sid very carefully doesn't look as he makes jabs at him about his waistline. 

They hit a bit of after work snag a half hour out from their hotel. Geno laughs every time Sid yells at someone, but people in Ohio drive like shit and someone nearly took out the front bumper when they tried to cross three lanes of traffic in one quick go. 

"So cranky," Geno says over the radio. Some pop star is singing about unable to keep her hands to herself and it isn't helping Sid's road rage any. Sid keeps both hands on the wheel because he's a responsible driver and gives Geno the finger in his mind. 

The GPS takes him to a Motel 6 parking lot. He stares at it like maybe it'll turn into something nicer, but it's still a Motel 6 and Geno is getting out of the car. Sid's not high maintenance, he's _not_ , but he's used to way nicer accommodations. It's not like they can't afford it. 

"Hotel is hotel," Geno says when Sid finally gets out of the car. "Clean sheets, bad breakfast in morning. You want Ritz always?" Sid makes a face that Geno ignores. 

They check in and walk around to the back. Their room is off a metal balcony, tucked in next to the stairway that leads back down to the lobby. It's weird. Sid feels like he should be able to see Flower's room across the way from his, but there's no hall and there's definitely no team. Geno throws his things on the bed next to the door and immediately begins poking at the thermostat. He runs hotter than anyone Sid's ever known. 

Sid runs through his usual hotel routine, unpacking the next day's clothes into the dresser and sticking his toiletries in the bathroom. The room is neat and smells like every other hotel room he's ever been in, clean and maybe a little sterile which is way more preferable than anything else. The carpet looks like the seventies threw up on it, but the bed is soft and the window looks out onto the tiny patch of trees in the back lot. 

Sid turns the TV on and tries not to be obvious about watching Geno go through his own routine. He's never roomed with Geno before. He spent time in Geno's room, but that was usually after the game when all the unpacking and fussing had been over. It's another thing about this whole trip that feels a little unsettling. 

Geno strips off his shirt and tucks it into the front pocket of his duffle bag without wrapping it up, which is gross. All of his stuff is going to stink at the end of the week. He flops down onto his bed, still rubbing his stomach, and Sid focuses on finding something to watch. 

"Good first day?" Geno asks halfway through an episode of CSI. 

"I guess? I've never been on a road trip that wasn't for hockey before." Sid's been on a few cruises and spent a few vacations overseas, but this is new. He doesn't think he would have done it without Geno anyway. He travels enough and cars get boring fast. 

"Me either," Geno says. "We learn together." 

Two episodes later, Sid glances over and finds Geno already passed out, still on top of the covers. His face has gone slack, bare chest twisted in a way that doesn't look entirely comfortable. He snores, just a little, and Sid finds it impossibly endearing. Carefully, Sid creeps out of bed and pushes on Geno's shoulder until he can tug the quilt over him. Geno murmurs something in Russian, rubbing his cheek against the pillow as he gets comfortable again. 

Sid turns the TV off, takes a quick shower, and goes to bed. It's going to be a long week and he doesn't know if he's excited about it or not.

\---

Geno sleeps for hours longer than Sid. Sid tries to wake him up earlier but Geno swats at him, face buried in the pillows, and swears at him until he stops. Sid fidgets on his bed for a while, bored and anxious. He doesn't like being idle. Eventually he grabs the swipe card for the room and the car keys and goes out on the hunt for breakfast. 

He's pleased when he finds a rouge Tim Hortons. It's tiny and tucked into yet another truck stop, but it smells just right and the coffee is perfect. He spends too long staring at the Timbits before giving in. He's allowed. It's not like he won't work it off after the trip. 

Geno's moved from his bed to the shower by time Sid gets back. Sid sets his coffee and donut on the nightstand and takes a last look around the room to make sure he got everything on his packing run through. He's taken to bringing along two sets of phone chargers whenever he travels. It was a lesson he learned quickly. 

He's halfway through his second pack of Timbits when Geno wanders out of the bathroom, shower damp and sleepy eyed. It's not an unfamiliar sight, but the venue is new and Sid squirms. This was a terrible idea. Geno flops down onto his bed and scoops up his lukewarm coffee with a mumbled thanks. 

"If you keep sleeping in, we're never going to get wherever you're taking us," Sid says. Geno waves him off, cramming half his donut into his mouth. It leaves powder smears on his lips and cheek. Sid throws a Timbit at him. 

"End isn't _point_ ," Geno says. He digs the Timbit out of his towel and pops it into his mouth. "Vacation, Sid. I'm know you have before."

"My vacations always had a schedule," Sid says. Geno snorts, finishes his donut, and rolls off his bed. Sid looks away when he drops his towel, answering the few texts he'd gotten overnight. Taylor's demanded photos and daily updates and Sid dutifully fires them off to her. She's halfway through exams and Sid feels bad for her. He doesn't miss those days at all. 

"We go," Geno says when he's pulled a t-shirt. It's a pale pink that makes his skin already look tanned. "Can't let Sid get bored."

"I'm not-" Sid sighs when Geno gathers their bags, walking out before Sid can protest. Okay, so he's kind of bored, but he's spent half his life in hotel rooms. They're naturally boring. He tidies up their trash before he joins Geno at the car and leaves a tip on the nightstand. It's the polite thing to do. 

They drive through the rest of Indiana and Illinois with the windows down and the radio turned up. Geno sings along sometimes, accent thick and voice permanently off key, his head tipped back against the headrest. He's wearing sunglasses that are kind of douchey, but he looks happy. In his element, which is weird. Geno's element is the ice. Here, in this warm space between metal doors, is as far away from that as Sid can imagine. 

Sid watches the road go by, cities and long swaths of trees, and lets himself think about the playoff run. Geno hasn't said anything about it, and Sid doesn't want to ruin his mood. They've got a while yet to win another cup. Sid knows that. Both of them are only getting better and it shows. But each year the taste of victory seems farther and farther away. He feels like a failure, and he doesn't know how to do anything but work harder.

"Can hear you thinking," Geno says. They're on a long stretch of highway, riding the fast lane past small cars with exceedingly ridiculous bumper stickers. Geno glances over at him, eyebrows raising over the brim of his sunglasses. "Very loud. Make me crash."

"Please don't crash," Sid says. Geno grins and drifts over to the zipper on the edge of the road. Sid clutches the door, scowling until Geno gets back onto regular pavement. "You're an asshole."

"Think less and maybe I drive better," Geno says. He reaches over to shove at Sid's shoulder, knocking him into the window. "Next season we do better. Work hard. Always work hard, Sid. Can't fix here. So stop think about it and relax." 

Sid bites back a catty reply. It's not that easy and Geno of all people knows that. Still, Sid takes a deep breath and forces hockey to the back of his mind. The air is warm and smells like dirt and pavement and the radio is cutting in and out on a country station that neither one of them care for but are too lazy to change. 

"Where are we going?" He asks. Geno grins at him, goofy and sweet, and cuts in front of one of the soccer mom sedans. 

"Boring place," he says. He looks over his shoulder at the next lane over and turns onto the exit ramp just as the GPS pings. "You like."

"Fuck you," Sid says, but he feels a little lighter. They've got time and they're only getting better. 

Some short time later Geno parks next to a giant white building with giant bushes growing on either side of the door. A few people linger outside, taking in the sunshine and idly walking across the island of grass in the walkway. Geno hands over the keys and shoos Sid out of the car. 

"Herbert Hoover Presidential Library," Sid reads off the embossed sign in front. "Library?"

"You see," Geno says. He tucks his hands into the pockets of his shorts and bumps his shoulder into Sid's. "Go on. Be boring."

Sid's skeptical when he's greeted with no small number of American flags hung on every balcony. If this is Geno's idea of acclimating to America after so many years half living here, he's doing a bad job of it.  
They take a turn into the large lobby and Sid realizes that the building is actually a museum. Sid stares at the board with the exhibit lists, interest piqued. Geno always makes fun of him for watching the History channel but he'd put a history museum into their trip. A flutter of warmth hits Sid square on. 

He gets lost in the China exhibit. It's so bright, full of color and replicas of robes and masks and vibrant vases. He reads over every plaque, terrified of the tiny foot binding shoes and awed by the kites. He makes his way slowly through the political regimes, stopping at the Boxer Rebellion and re-reading a few times to let the information have time to sink in. 

Geno trails along silently beside him, occasionally taking photos of the display cases. He doesn't rush Sid through even though he's visibly bored. At some point he disappears and comes back with a pair of tiny white porcelain cats. Both of them fit in the palm of his hand, the delicate blue details clearly hand painted. 

"What do cats have to do with this place?" Sid asks. 

"They have starfish, too," Geno says. "Or president cup. One you can touch." Sid shoves him and goes back to exploring. 

Eventually, Sid's stomach demands their departure. He sighs when Geno forces him to take a few photos in front of the really, truly spectacular kites but sends them to Taylor anyway. 

Like the day before, Sid takes over the last half of the driving. Geno makes faces at the place he chooses for them to eat- a perfectly nice restaurant that has more than oil and butter on the menu- and taunts Sid with a giant piece of carrot cake until Sid steals half of it for himself. 

He's sleepy and content on the road as they drive. It's hard to keep himself awake, the sun sloping low in the sky and the sweet summer breeze blowing over his skin. Geno calls his mom, the words unfamiliar but the soft tone familiar. He laughs a few times, his obnoxious shades still on, and pauses long enough to pass his mother's greeting on. Sid hears his name a few times but doesn't ask. 

Sid doesn't think he's ever been to Iowa before. Maybe in passing. He's seen more of America than he has of Canada, which seems wholly unfair. For a moment, he thinks to ask if maybe next time they can drive through his own country, discover the landmarks and the oddities together, but he bites down on it. Geno doesn't give up his summer usually. This is a one-off and Sid doesn't have the right to ask. 

That thought sours his mood a little. Geno _doesn't_ give up his summers. He loves Russia fiercely and always spends the week or so when he comes back sullen and slower to speak, reacquainting himself with English in short bursts. He always gets over it in the end, but Sid knows he misses home more than almost any of them do. America is where the hockey is, and Geno's already proved that he's willing to sacrifice everything for the hockey. 

Sid steals glances of him as he drives. He looks happy enough, smiling at whatever his mom's saying and fiddling with one of the porcelain cats. Every once in awhile he swats Sid's shoulder to point something out along the side of the road. He looks content, but Sid's stomach still twists. 

Why? What changed this year to make him stall his trip home? He's not leaving. He's still got years left on his contract. Not that it had stopped him before, but Sid doesn't think he'd skip out again. Not on the NHL, not after working so hard for it. Is he injured? Sick? 

Sid thinks about Tanger, about Mario. They'd been healthy until they weren't. Is Geno sick, too? Is this the lead up to telling Sid something's wrong? Sid tightens his fingers around the steering wheel and takes a slow, deep breath. If there's something wrong, they'll deal with it. Sid will help if he can and be there if he can't. 

Geno hangs up when Sid pulls into the lot of an Amerihost. Sid doesn't complain again. He'll sleep in every seedy hotel in the country if it makes whatever's going on with Geno easier. 

"Okay?" Geno asks when they get to their room. It's smaller than the other one had been, but it's at least inside the building and Sid feels stupid for being glad of having a hall between him and the next rooms over. 

"Yeah," Sid says. When Geno raises his eyebrows, Sid shrugs. "Just tired. Long drive."

"Poor Sid, such hard work." Geno simpers until Sid throws a pillow at him. He catches it easily, tossing it onto his own bed and flopping down on the mattress. He looks healthy. He looks just the same as he always does. But so had Mario and so had Tanger and just looking doesn't mean a damn thing. 

After trading off showers and going through their nightly routines, Geno steals the remote from Sid and orders a movie off one of the On Demand channels. It's a stupid movie with more explosions than plot, but Sid makes himself pay attention. It's better than driving himself into a worry hole. 

Geno passes out before it's over. Sid wonders if he does that in his rooms on the road, too, or if the tiredness is from whatever thing he might have. Sid rolls out of bed and works the remote out from Geno's slack hand, placing it quietly on the night stand. Geno grumbles at him as Sid tugs the duvet out from under him enough to cover him with it, but sinks almost immediately into the pillows. 

Carefully, Sid reaches forward and brushes his fingers over Geno's forehead. He's warm, but he always feels warm. Sid lets himself trace the sharp curve of Geno's cheek, post-season thin, and goes to his own bed. Geno will tell him whatever when he's ready. Fun, Sid thinks as he closes his eyes. This trip is about fun. 

\---

Geno stops at every roadside attraction in Nebraska he can find. Sid sighs and takes requisite photos in front of giant balls of stamps and rubber bands, sends them to Taylor, and takes her teasing with as much grace as he can. There's larger gaps between towns here, the traffic thinned out to almost nothing. It feels almost like they're the only people in the world. Sid likes it, even if he won't tell. He's not relaxed, he's never really relaxed, but he's close to it. 

They have ice cream instead of a real lunch, passing through a Dairy Queen drive through and eating in the car. Sticky vanilla ice cream slides over Sid's knuckles from his cone and down onto his jeans and the seat, and the steering wheel is shiny from Geno's mess, and Sid feels like a kid. 

He's chewing the last sweet, soggy piece of cone when Geno's phone starts buzzing in the cup holder. He glances down at it and winces. A photo of Ovechkin stares up at him, dark and a little fuzzy. It's a selfie and Sid can't quite tell if the dark blur at the side of the frame is Geno or not. 

"Who is it?" Geno asks. He's not the best driver on the planet, but he is remarkably good at not using his phone while driving. Sid would have hidden it otherwise, light traffic or no. 

"Ovechkin," he says. The buzzing stops for a moment and starts up again. Geno sighs. 

"Answer," Geno says. He sounds as excited as Sid feels. "He only keep calling." Sid reluctantly picks up the phone and accepts the call. Ovi's talking before Sid even gets the phone to his ear, fast and loud. 

"Geno's driving," Sid says, cutting in through Ovi's chatter. He's not a bad guy. He's obnoxious and he gets vicious on the ice, but Sid's been out with him and Geno enough over the years that he can stomach him. He just usually tries not to. 

"Sidney Crosby," Ovi crows. Sid grimaces and presses the speaker button. If he has to suffer Geno does too. "I should have known Zhenya with you. He refuse to tell me where he spend summer this year. Terrible friend. Is okay. I come visit soon. I know he miss me when we apart too long."

Geno says something to him in Russian. Sid holds the phone up with sticky fingers, wincing as he catches sight of the smears of his fingerprints on the screen, and lets them do their thing. He tunes them out and watches the stretch of trees and fields rush by. It really is pretty. Geno's getting increasingly agitated, his voice tight and the car speeding up and jerkily slowing down the longer they talk. 

"Hang up," Geno says. Ovi's still talking and squawks indignantly. 

"Can't run for-" His voice cuts off when Sid presses the end button. The phone rings again almost immediately, but Sid shuts it off. Can't run forever, Sid thinks. Ovi knows about whatever it is. 

"What was that about?" Sid asks. His heart lurches uncomfortably in his chest. 

"Nosy," Geno says. He turns as the GPS beeps, hands still tight on the wheel. "He think I'm already go to Russia, mad when I'm not read his mind about plans." Sid wants to ask, to get the declaration over, but Geno points at a massively hideous diner with dinosaur statues guarding the doors, and Sid lets it drop.

The next scheduled stop is a war vehicle museum. The giant building with the name of the museum is behind a chainlink fence, a row of tanks sitting neatly in the grass. Geno smiles smugly at Sid's helpless look of wonder.

"Less boring," Geno says as he parks the car. Sid doesn't even bother replying. He leads the way in past the fence and immediately zeros in on the Sherman tank. 

They explore the front for a while. Sid reads the plaques out loud to Geno, who's always understood verbal over written English better. Geno makes interested noises and uses his freaky height to look into the cockpits.

When they enter the main building, an older man greets them from his spot at a card table. He's gray haired and pot-bellied, but he gives them a bright smile and claps Geno on the shoulder like they've met before. 

"Boys here for the tour?" He asks. Geno nods. 

The man- Dave, he introduces himself as, one of the founders of the museum- leads them through sections of war vehicles, talking about the acquisitions and uses of each one. The concrete squeaks under Geno's sneakers, echoing off the massive empty walls. Dave lingers at a helicopter and pats it fondly. It was the first piece he'd secured for preservation and he's proud of it. 

"This here's the Bradley," Dave says. The tank is massive, set a little apart from the other vehicles. Dave tells them about it, about the restoration and history. "You boys want to go inside?"

"Yes," Geno says immediately. He doesn't bother to look ashamed when Sid nudges him. Dave laughs and leads them around to the back where the hatch is nailed down into the concrete. 

Geno slaps Sid away from the hatch and slips in first, ignoring Sid's comments about always going last. He has to duck to avoid smacking his head against the ceiling, but Sid's just the right height. The inside of the tank is huge if cramped, seating and wires spread everywhere. Everything is a pale, dull shade of green that makes both of them look slightly ill. Geno ducks into the tunnel that leads to the hatch. 

"Sid," Geno says. His voice echoes off the metal, coming back tinny. "Come look."

"Move then," Sid says, shoving Geno to the side when he refuses to budge. It's a tight fit, Sid's front pressed entirely to Geno's side and something with a lever digs directly into his thigh, but it's really cool to see the museum from the slightly elevated hatch. 

Geno looks down at him, grinning widely. He turns and their fronts line up, stomachs and hips and chests touching. Sid freezes. He wants to say something, or maybe scoot in closer to sneak in a hug, but instead he scrambles back, nearly braining himself on the tunnel entrance. 

"This is amazing," Sid says as he climbs down the back hatch. Dave puffs up, his barrel chest pushing out against his flannel, and beams. 

"We worked hard to get all this here," he says. He pats the dulled side of the Bradley. "We're tryin' to get another wing built, but I think the locals are tapped. Price on this place keeps growing." Sid elbows Geno, who's finally come out of the tank. They're dropping at least a little into the pot. There's no question about it. 

"Picture in tank for sister," Geno says, shoving Sid back towards the opening. Sid dutifully smiles for the camera and doesn't fight when Geno immediately steals his phone to both text Taylor and change his lock screen. "Look almost badass."

"Fuck you," Sid says. Geno just smiles and turns to where one of Dave's buddies is telling him about the veteran parades. 

There's nothing there that could be classified as souvenirs but Geno tucks their donation receipts in with the knicknacks instead. Sid makes a note on his phone to try to visit again. Hopefully the place will be bigger when he gets back. There's four hours of drive time until they hit the hotel, and Sid only puts up a token protest when Geno suggests Wendy's for lunch. 

"You should be fat," Sid says as Geno stretches his already large mouth to fit all three patties in. Grease sticks to his lips and fingers and the steering wheel, running down onto the curve of his wrist and eventually onto the slick fabric of his basketball shorts. The car's going to reek when they return it. Geno gives him a closed mouth smile with chipmunk cheeks. 

"Need to gain weight," Geno says when he's managed to swallow. "Always need to gain weight. Work hard all year." Sid rolls his eyes and starts in on his first chicken sandwich. It's bland, but he wasn't expecting wonders. 

"You don't have to gain it all in one week," Sid says. Geno ignores him in favor of his burger. If he weren't driving, Sid would kick him. 

Taylor calls when they've crossed over the Wyoming border. Sid balances the last of his late lunch on his knees and presses his phone to his ear. Geno turns the radio down and pokes at the GPS, looking for more tourist traps. 

"You look like you're having fun," Taylor says. Sid smiles at the sound of her voice. She's already promised to help with the hockey school and Sid can't wait to see her. He always feels like time has stolen her away from him, and he covets the moments they have together. "How's Geno?"

"I am and he's good," Sid says. Geno raises his eyebrows and Sid waves him away. "I think I've got a memento from every trashy American rest stop in the midwest."

"You trashy," Geno mutters. Sid flips him off. 

"Aw, you're converting." Taylor's side of the conversation is muffled for a moment, the background noise overtaking her voice, and then she's back, the end trail of her laughter coming through loud and clear. Sid listens to her and lets himself be happy that she's having an easier time at school than he did. "So, is there something you need to tell me, or...?"

"No?" 

"You sure?" Taylor asks. Sid's told her his adjusted schedule, gave her his updated flight details, and sent her all requested photos. 

"You called me," he says. Taylor sighs, the infinitely dramatic sigh of a teenager, and tells him about classes and training and her own earlier flight. She'll be leaving in a couple of days and she's already planning on crashing his house. Sid doesn't bother trying to tell her no. Staying there alone makes her feel grown up and makes him just feel old. 

"I gotta go," Taylor says eventually. "But do me a favor and get a clue soon, ok?"

"Uh, sure?" 

"Good?" Geno asks. He's drooping just a little, leaned back in his seat so far that Sid's a little worried about his spine. 

"Weird, but good," Sid says. 

"Crosby weird? No." Geno laughs when Sid pinches his stomach through his t-shirt. His stomach is irritatingly flat, save for a tiny roll of skin that Sid can't quite get his fingers around. "Tell me about sister, keep me awake."

"I can drive," Sid says. It's been his job so far to take the late shift, but Geno just shrugs. They're almost at the hotel. Sid retells Taylor's stories, pleased that Geno seems genuinely interested in her progresses. 

When they get to the hotel, Geno falls face first onto his bed and turns away the idea of dinner. Sid only gives him a little grief about his shitty lunch choices. Their neighbors have their TV up too loud, and the laugh track of whatever they're watching sounds like it's surrounding them. 

"Hate time change," Geno mumbles. It's a familiar complaint. 

"You're the one that wanted to go west. We could have gone to Florida."

"Boring," Geno says. He reaches back to rub at his neck with one hand, groaning. "Drive too much. Maybe you plan next trip." Sid very carefully doesn't let himself linger on that. He can't. Not until he knows what's going on. 

Geno snags Sid's wrist when Sid comes back from the bathroom and tugs until Sid sits next to him. He plants Sid's hand over his neck where his own had been earlier and grunts until Sid presses his thumb into the tight muscles at the base of his skull. Sid stares at the paleness of his fingers against Geno's dark hair. It's a strangely vulnerable place, and Sid's struck by the intimacy of it. 

Teammate, he reminds himself. Teammate and friend who might be sick. 

"You suck at massage," Geno says, voice muffled by the pillow. He arches his back just enough to press the nape of his neck into Sid's palm. It's warm and the growing curls there tickle against Sid's skin. 

"You're the one that put me here," Sid says. Still, he adjusts the loose collar of Geno's t-shirt to avoid strangling him and sweeps his thumbs along side the knobbly top of Geno's spine. Geno makes a soft noise and sinks into the mattress. 

"See? You learn quick," Geno mumbles. 

Sid spends too much time working the knots out of Geno's shoulders, digging his fingers into tight skin and trying to remember what the trainers had done to him. He knows Geno's body well enough, has seen it in passing for years, has trained with him and worked out with him and showered with him. But this is a new kind of knowledge. This is a map of how Geno's muscles lay over his bones, how they stretch and change under touch. 

When Geno's loose and Sid gets uncomfortable with how long he's been sat in the same spot, he moves his hands away. He expects Geno to grumble or to finally demand dinner, but Geno just lays there, long limbs sprawled out over the mattress. He's asleep, mouth open and eyes closed. He looks stupid, but something small and pleased rises up in Sid's chest. 

He doesn't want Geno to be sick, or hurt, or thinking about leaving. In his mind, it's always been the both of them at the end of the line, the two-headed monster that never dies. 

"Please be okay," Sid whispers. He stands up carefully, grabs the room key, and goes to find something to eat. They're barely halfway through the week and Sid doesn't want it to end. 

\---

Sid wakes up to Geno throwing socks at him. They're clean at least, balled up in a tight roll that's really bad for the elastic. He bats them away and blinks over at the bedside clock. It's six in the morning and Geno is already awake. Something's gone terribly wrong. 

"Wake up," Geno says. His voice is sleep rough and grouchy, but he's damp from the shower and pulling on his clothes. "Long drive. Be late if we don't leave soon."

"What happened to sleeping in?" Sid asks. He hadn't slept well the night before, head too full to settle down, and it's going to stick with him all day. Geno waves a hand at the paper cup of hotel coffee on the nightstand and starts packing up his things.

"Sleep in car," he says around a yawn. He sucks down his own coffee quickly, face scrunching at the taste. "You like what I'm pick, but we miss if you don't get up."

Sid drinks his lukewarm coffee and takes a quick shower. He feels mostly awake when he wanders back out into the room. Geno's packed Sid's stuff up too, both of their bags sitting on the mess of Geno's bed. He's texting someone, face pinched as he types. Sid sighs and gets dressed. 

"Are you good to drive?" Sid asks when Geno slides in behind the wheel. Geno glowers at him and pulls out of the parking lot.

Sid does sleep through most of the drive. Geno wakes him up once to pass him a breakfast wrap and once at a truck stop so Sid can visit the bathroom and restock on water. Sid feels kind of bad for not being good company, but Wyoming is endlessly boring and the steady hum of the engine keeps lulling him to sleep. 

Geno shakes him awake gently a hazy time later. Sid's neck aches from the awkward way he'd had it bent and his stomach grumbles. It's got to be near lunch time. Sid doesn't like time changes, either. They always screw him up, no matter how many times he's had to deal with them. 

"Here," Geno says softly. His smile is soft and fond and Sid can't stop himself from smiling back. Geno completely ruins the moment by tugging Sid's hat down over his eyes and laughing. "Come on, sleepy. You like."

"A candy store?" Sid asks. It's a massive building that sprawls over the whole block. He cannot fathom how many sweets have to be inside. "Do they close before noon or something?"

"So many questions," Geno says. He plants a hand on Sid's back and steers him towards the door. He doesn't take it off when they get inside and Sid shivers a little. It's stupid, a thousand people have done that to him before and it's mostly been uncomfortable, but he kind of likes it when it's Geno. 

The store is bright and covered in pastel blues and pinks. Giant tubes of jelly beans and taffy line the walls in rainbow order, spilling out into plastic tubs. Long, dark tables have equally bright displays of boxed chocolates and cinnamon candies in various sizes, all of them stamped with the company logo in neon. If Sid doesn't send Taylor a care package of at least half the store he'll never hear the end of it. Geno herds him up to the counter even though they haven't done anything other than look at the displays. 

"Here for tour," Geno says to the sleepy-eyed girl behind the counter. "Malkin." She gives them a once over before she jerks to attention. 

"I know," she blurts. Her face goes pink and Sid feels awkward enough for both of them. "I mean-"

"Hockey big in Utah?" Geno asks, easily breaking the tension. She smiles at them and shakes her head. 

"I knew Gemma gave me this shift for a reason," she says softly. She makes a quick call on the phone beside the register and shyly asks for a photo with them. Geno's hand drops off Sid's back as he makes room between them for her, and Sid tries not to be disappointed. "Thank you. Sorry you guys didn't get farther. You played really great."

"Thanks," Sid says. They didn't, not really, but it's the automatic response. Geno elbows him, and Sid makes himself smile. 

Their tour guide's name is Frank. He's an older man in a long white coat and the first thing he does is hand them a pair of hairnets. Geno shoves one on over Sid's head, laughing at Sid's feeble attempts to make him go away. The hairnet feels tight and scratchy on Sid's forehead, digging into his skin in a way that's probably going to leave marks. He takes solace in the fact that both Frank and Geno look as stupid as he feels. 

Frank leads them down a hall filled with pictures of people with various machines and storefronts. He tells them about the history of the company with a bit of pride in his voice, taking them through generations of confectioners. He pauses in front of a pair of steel doors with a wide smile on his face. 

"This is where it happens," he says and throws them open. It's all very dramatic, but Sid kind of enjoys the drama of it. Geno's eying him a way that suggests he knows. 

The machinery is loud, a steady rumble that fills the room and vibrates through the floor. Part of the floor is taped off, presumably to keep the tours safer, and all of it is a hard concrete that hurts even through the soles of Sid's sneakers. Frank stops in front of a gigantic mixer that looks like it belongs on the back of cement truck and tells them about how their taffy is made. 

There's samples. Geno grins when he's handed the first one, wiggling his eyebrows at Sid as he pops the square of taffy into his mouth. He's going to get Sid high on sugar and make fun of him when he crashes. The taffy is really good though, chewy and sweet without being overpowering. 

The chocolate covered fruit bars, jelly beans, and peppermints are also really good. Sid's vibrating with excess energy halfway through the tour. He can't stop from giggling helplessly at the face Geno makes at the cinnamon bears, his nose and mouth scrunched up comically. Sid's never met anyone with a more expressive face. Every thought passes over it, easy to read and interpret. It had been part of why Sid had connected to him so easily in the early days. He didn't have to wonder with Geno. It was all right there. 

Sid watches Geno take a quick turn at pulling taffy, giant hands clumsy with the stretch of candy, and wonders if he was wrong. 

By time the tour is over, Sid's teeth ache and his fingers are sticky. The factory is really cool though and he and Geno decorate spectacularly ugly truffles that Sid's going to add in to Taylor's care package. Geno keeps bumping their shoulders together, smug and pleased with Sid's obvious enjoyment. 

Frank takes a photo with Geno's phone of them in front of one of the conveyor belts with their stupid hairnets, Sid tucked snugly under Geno's arm. Geno posts it to Instagram before they've even left the factory part of the building despite Sid's protests.

"Keep hairnet," Geno says when they get back to the shop. Sid reaches up and rips it off gladly. "Good look."

"You're so weird," Sid says. Geno laughs and pushes Sid towards the gift box options. He definitely pockets the hairnets. Sid might put the donation receipt under the geode when he puts it on the mantle, but the hairnet is going into the garbage as soon as it ends up in his hands again. 

Sid buys way too much candy and only most of it goes into the gift box. The taffy is _really_ good. Sid fills up two bags with different flavors and resigns himself to sharing with Geno for the rest of the trip. The girl at the counter waves shyly at them when they leave. 

"You drive," Geno says once they're back in the bright sunlight. He rubs his stomach through his shirt and groans. "My turn to sleep in car."

"You have to keep me up," Sid says, even as he takes the keys. He's still sugar-buzzed, but he figures he's got maybe two hours before the bad sleep and sugar crash work together to knock him out. 

"Like you keep me up?" Geno asks, tip of his tongue trapped between his teeth. His lips are so red, a little puffy from the sting of cinnamon that he couldn't put down. Sid licks his own lips. He wants to know what Geno tastes like under that. "Don't crash car. Wake me up when we get to hotel."

"You suck," Sid says. Geno leans against the window and fakes a snore in reply. He's absolutely awful. 

Geno actually passes out a handful of miles away from the candy factory. He does snore a little, tiny, huffy things from his stupidly open mouth that fog up the window a bit. It's more comforting than annoying, uneven enough that Sid's able to keep himself awake listening for them. Sid kind of wishes Geno talked in his sleep like Sid himself does. He wants to know what's going on in Geno's head, even the mindless sleep stuff. 

"That's stupid," he says out loud to himself. Even if Geno did talk in his sleep, it would be in Russian. Also, on reflection, Sid can admit that wanting to listen in on sleep talk is creepy. He shakes it off and forces his attention to stick to the road. 

There aren't a lot of turns or exits. They'd gone in a mostly straight line since Pittsburgh, which didn't seem very roadtrip like to Sid, but what did he know? Sid resorts to pinching his thigh when he feels his eyes getting tired, his eyelids heavy and hard to keep open. He wants to pull over somewhere and grab a room for at least a nap, but it feels wrong to move off the schedule Geno had set out. 

Sid likes schedules. He knows schedules. He's surprised Geno has one. Surprised, but pleased. All the adventures Geno's told him about had seemed so spontaneous and split second. Geno can follow rules when he has to, can bend his will just enough to do as he's told if it's for something important, but he's a flighty creature that doesn't do well with stillness. 

It's something Sid's never understood. Their lives are so hectic that he craves every moment that isn't full of bustling rooms full of people. Small groups of friends are fine, but he doesn't have the same urge to be constantly surrounded like Geno does. Sid _likes_ being by himself. He glances over at the hunch of Geno's body and amends that thought. 

Sid shakes Geno awake when they get to the hotel. Geno had missed a few roadside attractions he'd probably have liked, and today they've stopped at fewer places than any other day, but all Sid wants is a sandwich and a bed. He doesn't know if they're taking the same path back or not, but he kind of hopes they do. He thinks Geno would like a photo with the giant tumbleweed on display in front of the gas station Sid had stopped at for fuel. 

"No," Geno grumbles. He slaps at Sid's arm lazily, shifting just enough in his seat to rest his shoulder against the door. Sid hits the unlock button and dares the door to pop open. It doesn't. 

"I'll leave you in here," Sid threatens. He wouldn't and they both know it, but it's worth trying. 

"Carry," Geno says even as his eyes slowly blink open. They're so dark, still fuzzy with sleep. He smiles softly, the corner of his mouth quirking up in a way that makes Sid feel small. 

"I'm not carrying you," Sid says, forcing himself to look away. He steps out into the hot Nevada air and stretches. His back pops as he lifts his arms over his head, a full body crack that hurts. His neck is killing him from his nap and he's cranky from the sugar crash. His internal clock is going to be so screwed up when they get back home. Geno's watching him when he turns back to the car, eyebrows drawn and the smile faded away. He shakes his head, sighs, and gets out. 

They order in Thai for dinner and Sid tries to shower away the crick in his neck. It works a little, but he still rubbing at it an hour later when they've finished off all the food. He'd won the remote battle and switched an X Files marathon on because Geno had never seen it before. Sid thinks the plots are dumb and the special effects really show their age, but he's never quite gotten over his boyhood crush on David Duchovny. 

"Hurt?" Geno asks from across the room. Sid winces when he turns his head to look over at him. 

"I slept at a weird angle," Sid says. He tucks his fist under his chin and pushes his head to the left and then the right. The cracking hurts more than it helps. "It should be fine in the morning." He's somehow not surprised when Geno crosses the space between their beds and pushes him down. 

"I'm better at massage than you," Geno boasts. He manhandles Sid onto his front, going in for a dickish attack at Sid's ribs when Sid doesn't go easily. Sid flails and recoils at the sounds that come out of his mouth. 

"This is the worst massage ever," he gasps when Geno finally relents. His ribs ache, the spaces between them already going sore from the too hard pressure of Geno's fingers. Geno flicks Sid's ear before settling all of his weight on Sid's ass. 

"I'm not start yet," he says, either ignoring or ignorant of Sid's sudden stillness. "Can't judge until done."

Geno straightens Sid's shirt before settling his huge hands on Sid's shoulders and pressing down on the strained muscles. It's almost exactly what Sid had done the night before, but this is almost too intimate to handle. Sid's eyes slide closed, a groan escaping him before he can catch it. It feels really, really good, but Sid can't make his muscles unclench.

He's too busy focusing on Geno's heavy weight on him, on the strangely bony press of Geno's ass on his, the thickness of Geno's thighs where they're bracketing his hips. Geno's got sweats on, but Sid sleeps in his boxers and every time Geno readjusts his weight, the soft material catches Sid's leg hair and tugs. 

"I make joke about tight, but is too easy," Geno says, grinding the heels of his palms into Sid's traps. It hurts for a second and then some of the tension releases. Sid doesn't squirm, but he does push his hot face into the pillows. They smell overwhelmingly of discount detergent and he makes himself focus on that. He's not a teenager anymore and getting a boner right now would be rude and mortifying. 

Sid must fall asleep during the- admittedly good- massage, because he wakes up in the middle of the night to soft snores next to his head. He's still on his stomach, hip dangerously close to the edge of the mattress, but Geno's arm is tucked around him securely. Sid struggles to get his hand out from under the heavy weight of Geno's stomach and rubs at his eyes. 

He's shared beds before at sleepovers and on the occasional team trip, but he's never woken up to someone cuddling him in close. The air conditioner is up high like it's been every night, and Sid's back is frozen but the whole line of his side is hot where it's pressed against Geno's chest. 

Sid stares at Geno's sleep soft face. It's so close to his own, their noses only a few inches apart. He can feel Geno's breaths against his chin, can feel the rise and fall of his chest. He doesn't know why Geno hadn't gotten up to go to his own bed, why he hadn't gone after Sid had fallen asleep, and for the moment he doesn't want to know. 

His heart aches as he gingerly traces the goofy line of Geno's nose with his fingertip. This, like the roadtrip, is a once in a lifetime thing and he knows it. He wants this. He wants to spend his days talking to Geno about hockey and their families, wants to be there for Geno's endless stream of selfies, wants to curl up into his warmth and sleep there. It's stupid. It's colossally stupid. Sid knows that. 

Teammate. Friend. _Geno_. 

Sid closes his eyes and carefully shifts onto his side, careful not to dislodge Geno's arm. He scoots backward until Geno's chest is flush against his back, Geno's knobbly knees tucked into the hollow of his own. He times his breaths to Geno's and falls slowly back to sleep.

\---

Geno's still wrapped around him in the morning. Sid keeps his eyes closed, taking in Geno's warmth. His foot is tucked between Geno's calves, his hand curled over Geno's wrist, fingers resting over the delicate skin over his pulse point. Sid takes a deep breath and holds it in until his lungs burn. Carefully, he untangles himself and turns until their chests are pressed together. 

He wants this. He wants this so much it hurts and it's unfair, because something's wrong and Geno hasn't told him, and this is just the calm before whatever storm Geno's going to call down, and Sid can't handle that. He can't. 

His chest feels too small. He can't breathe right, everything coming in too short and his head going dizzy as he tries to draw in air. He tries to be quiet, tries to keep his panic inside and quarantined, but he must make a noise or move or something because Geno cracks open an eye. 

For a moment, he looks fuzzy and warm, the same morning look that's becoming fast familiar. Sid wants it to be as familiar as lacing up skates. He wants Geno to swear at him in two different languages in the morning when he's woken up and cajole him into eating extra desserts before bed. He wants Geno anyway he can have him. 

"Sid?" Geno asks, his voice raspy and heavy. His eyebrows draw together and the softness fades from his expression. He lifts his head and Sid can see the sharp red fabric lines dug into his cheek and the side of his jaw. "Sid? What wrong?"

"Why are we doing this?" Sid asks. Everything is too loud in the cradle of space between them. Geno starts to pull away but Sid latches onto him and refuses to let him. 

"Didn't mean to-"

"Not the sleeping thing," Sid says, cutting him off. Geno tilts his head, looking for all the world like an oversized puppy. Sid sucks in a shaky breath and lets it out slowly. "The trip. Why are we doing this?"

"Not having fun?" Geno asks. He looks crestfallen, his face collapsing into the sad lines of disappointment. Sid stares at the bare cap of Geno's shoulder. It's easier than watching his sadness. He should have let Geno bring it up, he thinks. It's too soon. 

"I am," Sid says, trying to put as much feeling as he can into it. This has been a great week. That's why this is so hard. "Why did you want to do this? Why did you bring me out here?"

"Want to spend time together," Geno says. It almost sounds like a question. "Thought you'd like come with me." He sets on hand on Sid's arm, patting it clumsily. He leaves it there, fingers curled around Sid's elbow loosely. "You not want? Didn't have to come, Sid."

"Are you sick?" Sid asks. It comes out in a rush, the words tangling together on Sid's tongue. "Or leaving? What- can you just tell me now? I tried to wait, but I don't think I can not know anymore." Geno stares at him, dark eyes thinned down to slits, his fingers going tight around Sid's arm. It hurts as much as it's grounding. 

"You think I'm sick?" Geno eventually asks. "I'm look sick to you?"

"No, but Mario didn't look sick either, and Tanger didn't until after it had happened," Sid says. His friends, the people he spends most of his time with, are fearless and strong and as able bodied as anyone can be, but under it all they're fragile. All of them are so easily broken outside of pads and helmets and rules. It's terrifying and breath stopping and he doesn't want to think about it. "You didn't have to do this to soften the blow or whatever."

"You so stupid, Sid," Geno says. He flops down onto the mattress, bouncing it just enough that the headboard thumps against the wall. He wraps Sid up in his arms and yanks him in closer, smashing Sid's face into his chest. His necklace digs into Sid's forehead, probably leaving a mark, but Sid doesn't want to move just yet. This is Geno strong. This is what he wants. "I'm not sick. Not leaving Pittsburgh except for visiting Russia."

The relief hits Sid hard. He closes his eyes and lets out a hysterical bubble of laughter. Geno's not sick. He's not dying or leaving or doing anything other than laughing at Sid the same way he always does. For a moment, Sid just lets that sink in. Geno's fine. Geno's _fine_. 

"You think I'm have to be dying to want time with you?" Geno asks. He backs away until he hits the wall, fingers twitching against Sid's side. The bed wasn't meant for two men of their size, not really, and the small distance still leaves their knees and thighs threaded together. "I'm want tell you-" Geno sighs. 

"Tell me what?" Sid examines the lines of Geno's face, trying to read him. It's usually so easy, but he can't figure anything out. Not right now, when his head is still a little tangled up. Geno rolls his eyes and leans in. 

"This, Sid," he says. He brushes his lips over Sid's gently, delicate and soft and sweet, moving away before anything can sink in. Sid blinks stupidly at him, frozen in place. He has to be still asleep. It's the only explanation. "Think maybe is good time to tell you I like you. You say yes, like you too, everything good. You say no, sorry, I still get trip."

"What?" Sid shakes his head and jerks forward. His forehead knocks into Geno's, their noses smushing together for an unflattering moment, and then they're kissing again. Sid figures if he were dreaming, things would have gone smoother. 

It's not quite as soft, but Sid thinks maybe that can wait. That maybe they have time to be like this, stupid and confused and a little desperate, and still have time leftover to be sweet. Sid tugs Geno in, holds him close, and replaces the nervous, scared energy with something new and better.

They stay like that, lips sliding together and hands carefully moving over arms and chests and hips until Geno's stomach rumbles loudly. Sid laughs, high and loud in the silence of their hotel room. He squawks when Geno rolls over onto him, pinning him to the bed with all of his weight. 

"You worst," Geno accuses. He's heavy and his hips are bony where they dig into Sid's stomach, but Sid thinks he could get used to this. 

"You like me," Sid says. He feels giddy with it. Geno's teammate and friend and also something else. Something more. Sid slides a hand down the long line of Geno's back, spreading his fingers over smooth, warm skin. 

"I'm change mind. You worst." Geno softens his words with a sloppy, wet kiss to Sid's forehead. "Up. Long drive to cafe." Sid bites back a whine when Geno rolls off of him. Everything suddenly feels too cold. 

"We can just eat breakfast here," Sid says as Geno bends to rifle through his bag. He lets himself look at the curve of Geno's ass in his sweats and the sweet dip of his waist. He could touch that spot now if he wanted to, if Geno weren't all the way across the room. 

"Eat breakfast on road," Geno says. He jerks on a gray t-shirt and wriggles out of his sweats. His knees are hopelessly knobbly and Sid wants to do nothing more than trace the scars there. "Cafe special. You see. Up, up, let's go."

"You suck," Sid says. 

"Up!"

\---

Sid expects the drive to be awkward but Geno just slides behind the wheel, sets the GPS, and goes. He buys Sid an overpriced, oversized danish and grins around a mouthful of jelly donut. It leaves his mouth red and sticky after. Sid stares at the tiny smear of jam at the corner of Geno's bottom lip until Geno calls him a weirdo and wipes it away. 

As they pass into California, Geno sets a careful hand on Sid's knee, glancing over with an endearingly nervous expression. Geno's always, always so easy to read, and Sid can't figure out how he'd missed this. He slots their fingers together and doesn't ask. 

The countryside looks the same here as it has everywhere else, a little more developed and a little less green. Geno really does seem hellbent on getting to this cafe, not bothering to stop at any of the kitschy road traps he's been drawn to all trip. He won't say anything about it and it's driving Sid crazy. 

They get to the cafe just after noon. Sid spends the ride tracing the lines of Geno's palm, asking him inane questions because he can't make himself ask about anything important. He wants to know when Geno decided he liked Sid as more than a teammate, wants to ask if they're going to date or whatever when they get back to Pittsburgh, wants to know if Geno has even been with another guy before. The words stay stuck behind his teeth.

"Cats," Sid says when Geno throws his arms open in front of the brightly painted cafe front. The sign has a painted cat head that stares down at them with giant eyes and the window front shows into a playroom where half a dozens cats are roaming around freely. "This can't be hygienic."

"Is cats, Sid," Geno says, bustling him in through the door. "Cleanest animal. Cleaner than you. You stink."

"I didn't have time to shower," Sid whines, letting himself be bullied to the counter where they order coffee in giant ceramic mugs with lids. Geno buys them a matching set to go and wears the bag around his wrist as he pushes towards the back. Sid sighs, takes what will probably be his only drink of coffee, and goes after him. 

Geno sits on one of the rugs spread over the floor and immediately has a lapful of black and white cat. It butts its head up against his chin and settles into the hollow of his folded legs, glaring balefully at Sid when he gets too close. Geno coos sweetly at it and scratches behind its ears. 

"You make good pet one day," Geno says to it. There's flyers with photos of each of the cats with pleas for adoption under unfairly cute photos. The one in Geno's lap is a three year old tom named Wesley. Sid really, really hopes Geno doesn't try to add a cat to the car. "Good boy, yes. Sid, sit. Play with cats. Good for stress."

"We're never going to get the fur out of our clothes," Sid mutters, but still sets his coffee on a table and sits down on the rug. He has the feeling he's only going to get weaker when it comes to things Geno wants. 

A fat tabby and a wobbly gray kitten deem Sid interesting enough to lie on. He pets them gently, afraid of being clawed. Cats are alright, he guesses. Dogs are better by far, but the steady rumbling purrs against his legs and chest are nice. Geno beams at him, cradling Wesley in his arms. Sid's helpless to do anything but grin back. Maybe Geno's onto something with this. 

The cats come and go as they please. Sid scoots closer to Geno until their sides are pressed together. He's not stupid enough to do anything else in public, but he really wants to hold Geno's hand again. He feels like a teenager, fumbly and punch drunk from something as insignificant as that, but no one's ever accused him of social maturity. 

And if Geno sometimes brushes their fingers together and gets caught giving Sid fond looks, well, Sid can't complain. 

"Wish we could take one," Geno says when they're politely but firmly kicked out a few hours later. He's absolutely covered in fur of all colors, long and short hairs that have somehow woven themselves into the fabric of his shirt and shorts. Sid's pretty sure he is, too. He makes a note to have these clothes washed separately from the rest, but he's not confident that the fur won't follow him around for awhile. 

"You'd have to get someone to watch it when we're away," Sid says. He feels like an ass when Geno frowns at him, but someone has to be practical. Dixie was cute and sweet, but she'd taken a lot of outside care and Geno always seems to forget that. Plus, Sid would bet that Geno wants Wesley and Wesley seems pretty anti-Sid and that doesn't work into his plans. 

"I'm know," Geno sighs. He bumps their shoulders and leads them back to the car. As soon as they drive away, he takes Sid's hand in his again. Sid does his best not to look too stupid about it.

\---

Sid's anxious when they finally get to the hotel. It's another Motel 6, hidden away just off an exit ramp. It looks just like the first one they'd stayed at, right down to the ugly carpet, but a lot has changed since then. This is the first time they've been really out of the public eye since the morning and Sid doesn't know what to do with himself. 

They'd spent the day wandering around San Francisco, taking photos and exploring the city. Sid's a little sunburnt and his feet hurt from walking, but he's jittery and even the idea of sleeping is ridiculous. He busies himself with going through his hotel routine, more focused on it than he's ever been. His hands aren't quite shaking but they don't feel steady either. 

Geno flops onto the bed next to the wall, Sid's usual side, and holds out his arms. He cracks open one eye when Sid doesn't go to him. His cheerful expression flickers a bit and Sid rushes through putting his clothes away. It feels deliberate climbing into bed with Geno. The TV's off and Sid longs for its easy distraction. 

"Good day?" Geno asks as Sid settles in next to him. The bed still isn't big enough, especially with the way Geno's sprawled out over it, but Sid throws a leg over Geno's thighs and makes it work. 

"Yeah," Sid says. "Even if I smell like cats." Geno laughs, plucking a stray orange hair from Sid's shirt. He looks so fond, so pleased, and Sid wants- he _wants_. "Can I kiss you?" He's wanted to all day. The morning was cut too short and Sid feels cheated out of finally getting the chance. 

"Don't have to ask," Geno says with a teasing grin. He turns onto his side, fitting his thigh between Sid's, and wraps an arm around his shoulders. He smiles softly before closing the last distance between them. 

Geno's lips are rough, chapped from constantly licking them, and he tastes faintly of the last of the saltwater taffy. Sid's eyes slide closed as he learns the shape of Geno's mouth against his. He tangles his fingers up in the damp curls at the nape of Geno's neck and lets the tension fade away from him. 

He doesn't mean for it to go any farther than this, but it's been over a year since he'd made out with anyone, and it's _Geno_. Geno, who's found a spot just under Sid's jaw that makes Sid shiver. He leans into it, hands fumbling to get under the hem of Geno's shirt. He lays his palms flat against Geno's back, feels the unsteady rhythm of Geno's breath, 

When he scoots down the bed just a little he can feel the hot press of Geno's cock against his hip. Geno's groan sends a shock of arousal straight to Sid's dick, fattening it up inside his cargo shorts. He whines high in the back of his throat, locking his legs around Geno's thigh and grinding down onto it.

It's messy and ungainly, Sid humping Geno's thigh like a touch starved virgin, but Sid can't stop himself to do anything else. This has been building for forever, stuck inside him before he even knew what it was, and he feels like if he doesn't take hold of it now and run he'll never get another chance. 

Sid bites down on Geno's shoulder when he comes, the cotton of Geno's shirt dragging across his tongue and muffling his moans. Geno shoves him over, their knees banging together and their teeth clashing when Geno lunges in for a wet, sloppy kiss. He pins Sid down with his weight, grinds his cock against Sid's hip in rough, short thrusts that make Sid squirm. 

Sid watches the way Geno's mouth falls open and his eyes screw shut. He kisses the strong, strained arm next to his head, mouthing over Geno's pulse. His skin is salty and hot, the tendon in his wrist pulled tight. Geno freezes when he comes, the unpleasant wetness seeping through his shorts and into Sid's. 

Geno slumps down next to him, curling an arm around Sid's waist. Without the urgency of Geno's orgasm to focus on, Sid's aware of the sweat cooling on his own body, of the sticky mess of jizz already drying in his pubic hair. They need to clean up or at least get out of their dirty clothes, but Sid doesn't want to move just yet. 

Instead, he runs his fingers through Geno's hair, straightening it up like he's done a dozen times before. It's a small touch, something he's done for Flower and Tanger, and maybe it's weird, but he's never claimed to be anything else. Here, though, it's not friendly and it's not thoughtless. It's a part of the terrifyingly new thing growing between them. Geno hums low in his throat, turning his head under Sid's hand like one of the cafe cats.

"What are we doing, G?" Sid asks. It's close enough to all the things he wants to ask but can't. Geno blinks at him, already half asleep. Sid drops his hand and closes his eyes. 

"Sleeping," Geno mumbles. 

"I mean-" Sid waves a hand between them, at the sticky, sweaty mess they made. "Are we…. dating? Is this just until we get back to Pittsburgh, or…?" Sid shrugs and picks at Geno's shirt. It's wear soft and a little damp, clinging to the firm line of Geno's shoulders. 

"What you want?" Geno asks. He lays a steady hand on Sid's chest, petting him absently. 

"I want to keep doing this," Sid says quietly. The last of the sunlight coming in through the windows makes Geno look golden. "I want to… I don't know. Be your boyfriend or whatever." Sid wishes that there was a class for this. He's sure he's not the only one that could use it. 

"Then you my boyfriend or whatever," Geno says around a grin. He shimmies until he can lay himself half over Sid, crushing him into the mattress and making everything too hot. Sid's dick is starting to chafe in his boxers, but he's not going to move until Geno does. "Think too much, Sid. Is us. Is easy, okay? Hockey hard. Life hard. This not hard."

"Everything's easy for you," Sid says. He regrets it as soon as he's said it- he knows Geno's gone through rough patches and it's not a fair comment at all- but Geno just snorts and bites at Sid's shoulder. 

"I'm best, yes I know," he says. Sid digs his fingers into Geno's ribs, but Geno's obnoxiously unticklish. "Shh, you ruin afterglow with thinking. We sleep, I take you to Alcatraz for tour, and then we drive back to Pittsburgh. Good enough plan for you?"

"Yeah, G," Sid says. It really, really is.

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to come join me at my [tumblr](http://notyourlovesong.tumblr.com)!


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